


sacred new beginnings

by arysa13



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Dating, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Smut, like just fluff with a sprinkle of smut later on as a treat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29967498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13
Summary: Bellamy exhales, a little shakily, running a hand through his dark curls. “I’m asking if you, Clarke Griffin, want to go on a date with me, Bellamy Blake,” he says, his voice steady, his eyes locked on hers.And suddenly Clarke knows that he’s not fucking with her, and she hasn’t misunderstood, or misheard, and he’s here, genuinely asking if she wants to date him.aka Bellamy and Clarke are best friends and then he asks her out.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 132
Kudos: 222





	sacred new beginnings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loverosie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loverosie/gifts).



> this was supposed to be a birthday present for bell, the love of my life, but it's taking much longer than i thought it would and it already 11 days late and i don't even know if i'm halfway. anyway HAPPY BIRTHDAY BELL. I love you with all my heart.

Clarke doesn’t think she’s ever seen Bellamy Blake tongue-tied before. Not in the entire nine years she’s known him. He’s the definition of charismatic, with an easy, charming smile, a deep, reassuring voice, and always in possession of the exact right words.

It had pissed her off to no end when they first met, when she was forced to group with him for an assignment in freshman year of college, and everyone wanted to listen to _his_ ideas, ignoring all her perfectly valid, and often similar suggestions.

She’s always known she comes off as bossy and abrasive—well she figured it out early anyway. When her friends stopped coming to her house because they didn’t follow the storyline for the dolls she’d carefully thought out. When the kids at school refused to be on her team for any kind of sporting activity, not because she wasn’t athletic, but because she’d just announce herself as the captain and start giving orders. Well, _someone_ had to take charge.

And she’d thought college was a fresh start, she and her best friend Wells getting into the same one, and she could paint a new reputation for herself. But old habits die hard, and she could never quite stifle that need to be in control.

And it’s not like she didn’t make friends, because she _did_. But then they met Bellamy and they liked him better. Everyone always liked him better, even Wells. And one night the resentment had gotten too much, and it had all spilled out of her, how jealous she was that it was so easy for him to make friends, how she wished she’d never met him, how Wells was the only real friend she ever had, and how nobody ever liked her best.

And she knew she was being stupid and childish and petty, and that she’d deserve all the cruel things he might say back to her, that he could say, and they’d all be true. The digs at her privileged upbringing, how her mom was paying for college, how she was uptight and controlling and downright unpleasant to be around.

But instead, all he’d said was, _I like you best_. And it turned out she liked him best too, and they’ve been best friends ever since.

And yet now, he’s standing in her kitchen, refusing to sit or let her plate up a serving of the pre-packaged grocery store lasagne she’s just taken out of the oven, looking at her, but not speaking.

It’s not that they always have to talk. She’s spent many a pleasant, comfortable silence with Bellamy. But this isn’t one of those.

He’d texted earlier to ask Clarke if he could come over, which is weird in itself. Normally he just drops by without warning. Clarke usually scolds him for it, but he’s never actually listened before. Besides, she kind of likes him showing up unannounced. She likes that he’s thinking about her, that he wants to see her even when they haven’t made plans. Her upbringing says it’s bad manners, and her type A personality dislikes being caught off-guard, especially when she’s been working all day and she just wants to curl up with a glass of wine in front of the TV.

But it’s Bellamy. His company is never unwanted, and she likes how he manages to get her to stop being so uptight all the time. He’s the only one who can.

Except now, it seems, he’s turned into the uptight one, even though he’s the one who sought her out. If he’s not going to eat her food and drink wine with her while they both bitch about their work days, what is he even doing here?

“Are you sure you don’t want some?” Clarke asks, noting the hungry way he’s watching her plate up her own serving of lasagne.

“No, no,” he waves her off, meeting her eyes. “I can’t stay.”

“Okay,” Clarke says slowly. She waits for him to say something else. It’s obvious he has something to say, because he’s all fidgety, and he keeps taking a breath like he’s about to tell her some god-awful news, and honestly, it’s starting to freak her out.

But he still says nothing, just looks at her, like he hopes she might just read his mind.

“Bellamy,” Clarke says. She focuses on him, putting the lasagne aside for the time being. “Are you okay?”

He nods. “Yeah,” he says.

“So…”

“So?”

“Can you stop being weird?”

He doesn’t try to deny it, at least. He swallows, then squares his shoulders, lifts his chin, like he’s steeling his resolve. For what, Clarke doesn’t know. He clears his throat, and then it seems he’s ready.

“Do you—would you ever want to go on a date with me?”

Clarke stares at him, stunned. It’s so far from anything she thought she’d hear from his mouth. She’s sure she must have misunderstood, or misheard him. And yet even though she’s positive he doesn’t actually mean what she thinks he means, her heart leaps. She can feel it clanging around stupidly in her chest, no fucking subtlety whatsoever.

She tempers her emotions, keeping her face impassive. She’s not going to make a fool out of herself by jumping to the conclusions her heart wants her to make.

“Like… hypothetically? Are you asking me if you’re dateable?” she squints at him, trying to work out what he wants from her here. He’s never had any trouble dating. Her jealous streak has reared its ugly head more than once over that, though she’s managed to keep her outbursts between her and Wells.

Bellamy exhales, a little shakily, running a hand through his dark curls. “I’m asking if you, Clarke Griffin, want to go on a date with me, Bellamy Blake,” he says, his voice steady, his eyes locked on hers.

And suddenly Clarke knows that he’s not fucking with her, and she hasn’t misunderstood, or misheard, and he’s here, genuinely asking if she wants to date him. Her heart spasms in her chest.

“Yes,” she says, breathy, too eager. The tips of her ears go hot at the sound of her own enthusiasm. It’s too soon for him to know just how long she’s wanted this.

“No pressure,” he clarifies hurriedly, as if he hasn’t heard her. “Just, you know, if you want to. I was thinking about what you said on the weekend, about how meeting new people isn’t fun anymore, and dating is a chore, and I agree with you. And don’t feel like you have to say yes, or that you know, I’m thinking about marriage or whatever, just—it could just be one date. Just to see.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke says, and he looks at her, pained. “Yes.”

He licks his lips. “Yes?”

Clarke nods. “Yes.” She fiddles with her earring nervously, hoping her face isn’t as red as it feels.

“Okay,” he says. “Friday?”

“Okay,” Clarke agrees, with a short nod.

“Okay,” he repeats. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Okay,” Clarke says again. She sounds like an idiot. She’s never been so completely at a loss for words around him, but her brain hasn’t quite caught up to the situation yet.

He grins, and it sends a jolt to her stomach, and a smile spreads over her own face. “I’ll see you then,” he says. And then he leaves, and Clarke stands there stupidly in her kitchen, hands over her blushing face, still trying to process the fact that her best friend asked her on a date. And she said yes.

-

It’s two days until Friday, which means she has two days to completely spiral over the fact that she’s going on a date with Bellamy. She wishes she was the kind of person who could just take life as it comes, but no, she has to overthink absolutely everything.

She dwells on the way he asked her. It was so nonchalant, despite his nervous undertones. Like he wasn’t turning her world upside down, like even this one date couldn’t change the entire fabric of their relationship. Does he know she likes him? Does he know the real reason she hates dating now is because no one she meets ever compares to _him_?

Part of her thinks he hasn’t thought it through at all, that he asked her on a whim, and that after their date he’ll decide it was an experiment that didn’t work out and go on with his life, perfectly fine, while she mourns the loss of what could’ve been. It’s part of why she never acted on her crush before—if she never asked, she could keep imagining, and she’d never know the difference. How is she ever going to recover from the absolute humiliating possibility of him just—realising he doesn’t like her that way? It would be unbearable.

But then, he’s been thinking about it since Saturday, when she drunkenly complained about her Tinder matches, and her last few horrible dates. So it’s not _entirely_ on a whim. Did it take him four days to decide, or four days to work up the courage to ask her?

And she trusts him. It’s all new, and beyond her wildest expectations. Has she dreamed about it happening? Yes. Did she ever actually believe it would? Not in a million years. But she trusts that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. Not on purpose, at least.

She can’t swallow more than a few bites of her lasagne after he leaves. Her stomach is in knots, and it still is hours later as she gets ready for bed, then climbs in, burying her face in her hands, wishing she could just stop _thinking_. It might be great. She wants it to be great. But what if it’s not? What if—?

Her phone vibrates dramatically on her nightstand, and she scrambles to grab it, glad for an excuse not to be in her own head. It’s Bellamy. Her heart lurches as she puts the phone to her ear.

“Stop overthinking it,” he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice.

“I’m not,” she lies.

“I know you, Clarke,” he says, and he’s right, he does, he knows her better than anyone else on the planet. “I’m sorry.”

She freezes, the knot in her stomach that had started to untangle suddenly tightening again. He’s sorry? Does he regret asking her already? Is he calling to tell her it was a mistake to ask her and that they should forget it ever happened?

“You’re sorry,” she says flatly. She’ll die before she lets him see that he’s upset her. She can feel the emotions bubble up in her chest, something hard lodge in her throat, but she swallows them down. She can cry once she’s hung up the phone.

“For springing it on you like that,” he explains. “I just—I had to get it out, and I didn’t want you to feel like it was a big deal to me in case you wanted to say no.”

She’s silent for a moment, chewing her lip. “But it is a big deal?” She tries not to sound too hopeful.

“Of course, it is,” he whispers. “How could it not be? It’s _you._ I’ve been thinking about it for so long, and then after what you said on Saturday night I thought maybe—maybe this was the right time. It took me a few days to get the nerve up,” he laughs, and Clarke can hear that he’s still nervous now, admitting this to her.

“You were nervous to ask me,” she says, smiling to herself. She relaxes as relief floods through her. “Did you think I would say no?”

“I really, really hoped you wouldn’t say no.”

“I’m glad you asked me,” she says. “I—I’ve been thinking about it a lot too.”

“Yeah?” he asks, hopeful.

Clarke nods, before remembering that he can’t see her. She pulls the phone away from her ear and switches to FaceTime. He answers immediately, and he’s lying in bed, shirtless from the looks of it, and she feels a rush of desire. She wants to kiss him, wants to be there in his bed with him. Her stomach flips over as she realises that could be a real possibility sometime soon.

“Are you still overthinking?” he asks.

“Are you?”

“A little bit,” he laughs. “I really don’t want to fuck this up. I really like you, you know.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, biting back her smile. “I know. We’re best friends.”

He hesitates. “You know what I mean.”

She tries unsuccessfully to fight off a blush, her stomach full of butterflies, feeling like a silly teenager because the boy she has a crush on told her he likes her.

“I know,” she says softly.

“I didn’t want to tell you all this, because I didn’t want to put pressure on you. But I also didn’t want you all in your head, anxious about why I asked you or what it means or where I’m taking you,” he says.

And this is why she’s pretty much in love with him. He knew she’d be freaking out so he called her to assuage her fears and make sure she’s okay, even though he was nervous to tell her how he felt.

“Where _are_ you taking me?” Clarke asks. She hadn’t even _started_ stressing about that part yet. That was probably going to be a Friday morning thing, when she realised she didn’t have a thing to wear.

“Can it be a surprise?”

“How am I supposed to know what to wear?”

“You can wear whatever you like,” he laughs. “It will just be us.”

Clarke’s heart skips a beat. “Just us,” she repeats. She bites her lip, feeling shy all of a sudden, as if they haven’t hung out just the two of them before. “Okay. I like that.”

He smiles. “So are you feeling better now?”

“Yeah,” Clarke says. Just like always, he managed to calm her down just by talking to her. Those kids at the school he works at have no idea how lucky they are to have him as their guidance counsellor. “Thanks. Bellamy—”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a big deal for me too.”

He lets out a shaky laugh. “Thank god.”

She grins. “So I’ll see you on Friday?”

“Friday,” he agrees. “Goodnight.”

She returns the sentiment and they hang up, and she’s still nervous, but mostly she feels giddy with excitement, and she can’t stop smiling. She screws up her nose, burying herself under her blankets. He likes her, he likes her, he likes her. He thinks it’s a big deal. She falls asleep thinking about him, imagining their date in a million different ways, and not one of them ends in disaster.

-

He arrives early. She can see him sitting in his 2007 Toyota in her driveway, waiting for it to be seven, so he doesn’t throw her off by showing up before she’s ready. She’s been ready for thirty minutes, surprising herself by not second guessing the outfit she picked last night, and actually getting her hair and make-up right on the first try. Small miracles.

It’s a dress she’s only worn once before, red with a plunging neckline. She’s paired it with some strappy kitten heels, hoping she’s not overdressed. But she couldn’t bring herself to dress down any, because it’s their first date, and she wants to look good for him, wants to look so good he reconsiders taking her on the date at all and instead ravages her on her living room floor.

She wants to go out there and meet him, but she doesn’t want to throw _him_ off either, so she just watches him from the gap in her curtains of her front window as he scrolls on his phone. He looks up, his eyes meeting hers. She can’t see his expression in the dark, but she waves sheepishly, knowing she’s been caught out.

He opens the car door, illuminating the interior, but he’s not looking at her anymore. He gets out of the car, and there’s something stupidly erotic about the slow way he moves. Clarke’s heart speeds up, and she drops the curtain closed, hopping to the front door. She’s all jittery now, heart racing, stomach churning.

He rings the doorbell, and Clarke makes herself take a deep breath before she opens the door. It does nothing to calm her nerves, but she swings the door open anyway, eager to see him. She’s left breathless at the sight of him standing there, looking so fucking cool and sexy in a navy button down, holding a small bouquet of dahlias—her favourite flower.

He opens his mouth to speak, but his breath catches, and no words come out. Clarke thrills at his silence, pleased to have made him speechless twice in a matter of days. His eyes flicker downward, briefly, and Clarke flushes as his eyes linger on her cleavage for a split second too long before he catches himself and meets her gaze again, and he’s blushing too.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Clarke returns shyly.

“You look—nice,” he says lamely. Clarke raises an eyebrow at the compliment. She _knows_ he can do better than that. He gives a small groan, his embarrassment obvious. “Sorry. I’m out of practice,” he admits. He allows himself another glance. “It’s a very nice dress.”

Clarke is practically glowing, stupidly happy that he likes her dress, or probably more accurately how she looks in said dress. It’s not like she doesn’t know she looks good—she put it on hoping his reaction would be something akin to this stunned, almost speechless thing he’s got going on. But hearing him say it, watching him try not to stare too long, it gets her pulse jumping, and she wants him to put his mouth on her right now.

Instead, he thrusts the flowers at her. “These are for you.”

“Thanks,” she says, taking them. She puts them to her nose, though they don’t particularly give off a scent. “I’ll put them in some water, and then we can go, okay?”

He hangs awkwardly in the kitchen doorway as Clarke procures a vase and fills it with water, pretending not to notice his eyes on her. His presence is so different from how he normally is when he’s at her house. It’s like she’s suddenly aware of just how much space he takes up, the manly smell of his cologne, how he’s looking at her, and how there’s a very real possibility that they might have sex tonight.

She’s picturing him pushing her against this counter, kissing her, pulling her panties down, the ones she put on especially for him. She’s flushing as she turns back to him, flowers in a vase on the counter.

“Ready?” he asks, and she marvels at how he sounds so calm, when she feels like her heart is about to leap out of her chest. Is he not thinking about it too? What it would be like to slip his hands under her dress, touch her all over?

“Ready,” Clarke croaks out.

He leads her to his car, swinging the passenger door open for her. She brushes against him as she slides in, and god, the barest touch has her skin alight with crackles of electricity.

It’s not like they’ve never touched before. Casual, meaningless touches like any two friends do. They hug all the time, and cuddle on the couch, and he’s good at it, and yes, sometimes it leads to inappropriate thoughts on Clarke’s behalf. But it’s never been like this. Every fleeting contact, every brief glance is loaded.

He shuts the door behind her then gets into the driver’s seat. She folds her hands in her lap, sitting stiffly, her heart thudding hard against her ribcage. She wishes she could just relax and enjoy this. His presence usually puts her at ease, but right now she’s sure she’s never been more tense in her life.

He starts the car, and Kings of Leon’s _Use Somebody_ is blaring from the radio. They both reach for the volume at the same time, their hands knocking against each other. Clarke quickly pulls her hand away, and Bellamy’s hand hovers for a moment before the song becomes a quiet background soundtrack to the tension filled car.

He pulls out onto the street, and she takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, remind herself that this is _Bellamy_ , her best friend, not some random hot guy she doesn’t know the first thing about. But then, that’s entirely the problem. This date _matters_.

“Are you nervous?” he whispers in the dark.

“Yes,” Clarke admits.

He glances at her. “Me too.”

Clarke smiles at that, ducking her head. Somehow, that admission does make her relax a little. He’s nervous too, she’s not freaking out alone. They both want this to work out, to be good.

“How was your day?” he asks her, swinging his eyes back on the road. Clarke takes the opportunity to study his handsome profile, his big hands, one wrapped around the steering wheel the other resting on the gearshift. The streetlights flash over him, lighting up the car every few seconds so she can see him better. His car feels smaller than usual, like she’s so much closer to him. Her knee inches from his hand.

“Honestly I was a little distracted all day so I wasn’t totally on my game,” she admits. “One of the patients in my group therapy session told me I seemed like I was off with the fairies.”

To be fair, it was at a point in the session where she usually just lets them lose themselves in the process, painting whatever the music she put on made them feel. It’s not like she’d trailed off midsentence. She just happened not to hear when someone asked her a question.

“That’s unlike you,” Bellamy says. “Is everything okay? We could’ve rescheduled if you’ve got stuff going on—”

“Bellamy,” Clarke says gently. For someone so smart, he really can be obtuse sometimes. “I was distracted because I was thinking about you. About our date.”

“Oh.” If she could see his face properly in the dark, she’s sure he’d be blushing. “In a good way, I hope?”

“Yes,” Clarke laughs. Affection blooms in her chest as he grins. He can be so adorable sometimes. She feels lighter now, some of the tension seeping out of her. “Where are you taking me?” she asks.

“We’re almost there,” he promises.

It’s a few minutes before he pulls into the empty aquarium parking lot. Clarke looks up at the darkened building, and she can faintly make out the dolphin shaped sign. There aren’t any restaurants around this area, so she can only assume he really meant to come to the aquarium. She looks to him, ready to tell him it’s okay if he forgot the aquarium closes at six, and she’s honestly happy if they just go to a movie or something, but he’s already getting out of the car.

Clarke unclips her seatbelt, just as Bellamy opens her door for her. He stands back as she gets out of the car, almost like he’s afraid her skin might brush his again.

“You know the aquarium’s closed, right?” Clarke asks.

“Not for us it’s not,” he grins. “Come on.”

She follows him towards the building, but instead of heading for the front entrance, he leads her along a path down the side, pulling his phone out as he goes. He sends a text, then slips it back into his pocket, stopping outside a painted blue door, mostly blending in with the rest of the building, except for the security lock on the outside.

“Are we breaking in?” Clarke whispers. She’s not sure why she feels like she has to whisper—but there’s something mysterious and dangerous and thrilling in the air, and if they really are breaking in, they probably shouldn’t make too much noise. Getting arrested on their first date is one way to make it memorable.

Bellamy chuckles, and when he replies, he’s whispering too. They stand facing each other, on either side of the door.

“Not breaking in,” he assures her. “Breaking and entering is usually more around the fifth date for me.”

“Just let me know in advance so I can wear the appropriate attire,” Clarke tells him. She doesn’t even feel embarrassed that she just hinted that she’d like to go on a fifth date with him, despite not even finishing the first yet.

The door swings open then, and it takes Clarke half a second longer to register it than she normally would, too captivated by Bellamy’s boyish grin. When she finally does turn her head, she sees a woman standing there, and it takes her another second to realise it’s Luna Murray, a sort-of friend from college that she hasn’t seen in years.

“Oh,” Clarke says. “Hi.”

“Hi, Clarke. Bellamy,” Luna nods. “Come in.” She stands aside, and Bellamy gestures for Clarke to go inside first, his fingers hovering at her lower back but never actually making contact.

“Thanks again for doing this,” Bellamy says as the heavy door clicks shut behind him. Clarke feels off-balance, out-of-place. She had prepared herself for the surprise of their destination tonight, but she hadn’t prepared for the presence of Luna. Is she going to be their tour guide? She doesn’t want to be rude, seeing as how Luna obviously set up this after-hours excursion for them, but she also wants Luna to be far away from here.

“It’s really no bother,” Luna says. “I’m glad you finally got your act together.”

Clarke’s eyes are already on Bellamy, trying to catch his attention to convey the message _I thought you said just us,_ and she doesn’t miss the way his cheeks turn a pleasant shade of pink. Before Clarke can dwell too long on the meaning of Luna’s statement, she’s already changing the subject.

“I’ll be in my office, let me know when you’re leaving, will you?” she says, and Clarke sags in relief. No random third wheel from college gate-crashing their date.

“Sure thing,” Bellamy says easily, already recovering from whatever embarrassment Luna put him through.

_I’m glad you finally got your act together._ Clarke can’t help but wonder exactly how long Bellamy has been planning this date. _Finally_ doesn’t seem to indicate even a week ago when he claims he first started considering asking her out, let alone two days ago after he actually asked her.

Luna disappears, leaving Clarke and Bellamy alone in a particularly unflattering part of the aquarium, all white linoleum flooring and harsh fluorescent lights. Not that any lighting can make Bellamy look ugly. He looks at her.

“Shall we?”

Clarke nods, and Bellamy leads the way out into the public area of the aquarium. They start at the little touch pools, usually surrounded by little kids during the day. As much as Clarke likes children, she can’t help but feel grateful that he organised it like this—screaming school groups would ruin the romance just a little.

“I can’t believe you did this,” Clarke says wondrously. She looks up at him, her fingers patting the back of a tiny, rough-feeling shark.

No one’s ever gone to so much trouble for a date with her. Half the time she’d be lucky if they bothered to book a table at a restaurant. _She’s_ usually the one making date plans. She’s so not the kind of person who does well with _I’ll meet you at that Irish pub at around 8ish._

Bellamy shrugs, nonchalant. “Honestly the hardest part was working out what you’d like to do on a first date.”

“I mean, for me it’s never about what we _do,_ it’s—”

“It’s about the person you’re with,” he finishes for her. “I know. I asked you once, what your perfect date would be, after you had what I distinctly remember to be the worst date ever.”

“And the reason it was terrible was not because she took me to an outdoor movie in the rain. It was because she complained the whole time about how her hair was getting wet, and she yelled at the staff for not providing umbrellas, or warning her it was going to be raining.”

Bellamy laughs, deep and full. “You really have had some shocking dates. I promise I won’t yell at the fish or anything.”

Clarke shakes her head, smiling. “This is already the best date I’ve ever been on,” she says, allowing herself to be vulnerable for a moment. She’s sure he catches her meaning—that it’s because it’s with _him,_ and not because she particularly likes sea creatures or anything.

He ducks his head, failing to hide his blush. Can he just hurry up and kiss her already? She almost makes the move herself, on the verge of just grabbing him and pulling his lips to hers. The thought gives her heart palpitations, and at the last moment she chickens out.

“There’s more, actually,” he says, pulling his hand from the tank. “As much as I’ve enjoyed touching this sea anemone.”

“Okay,” Clarke says. “Lead the way.”

Bellamy turns, and Clarke falls into step beside him, close enough that their hands might brush as they walk together. Her fingers itch for him to intertwine them with his. Her throat is thick with the thought of it. Would he let her, if she just reached out and slipped her hand into his?

And then, as if he’s thinking the exact same thing, he quietly brushes his fingertips against hers, then curls his hand around hers, engulfing it entirely. Her pulse jumps, a rush of giddiness swirling around her brain. And he’s just _holding her hand_. Even as a teenager she wasn’t _this_ idiotically pathetic around her crushes.

“Is this okay?” Bellamy asks, glancing at her.

Clarke nods. “Yes. Yes, definitely okay.”

He gives her hand a gentle squeeze, and she beams at him. They continue through a hallway, ignoring the paragraphs of information on ocean conservation. Well, Clarke is ignoring it. Bellamy is rambling, giving her information he’s clearly memorised on various sea creatures. Clarke is distracted by the way he keeps stroking her hand with his thumb. She usually likes his random tangents, always interested to learn something new from him. But she can’t concentrate on his actual words, only the deep timbre of his voice echoing in the hallway, each syllable striking her core.

The hallway ends abruptly, and then they’re standing in the true highlight of the aquarium, the massive tunnel, where sea life swims around and above them, surrounding them as if they’re actually underwater. Halfway down the tunnel there’s a tartan picnic blanket on the floor, adorned with burgundy cushions, and a basket and a cooler beside it.

Clarke looks to Bellamy, speechless. He looks back at her, cringing.

“I just realised how lame this is,” he says. “I should’ve taken you to a fancy restaurant. Or a movie—this is—this is—”

“Perfect,” Clarke assures him. He swallows.

“Yeah?” he says hoarsely. Clarke’s chest aches at the hopeful, innocent expression on his face.

Her eyes flick to his lips, not for the first time tonight, and she grows brave. She propels herself onto her toes, closing her eyes as she presses her lips to his, brief and chaste, like a twelve-year-old trying it out for the first time, not even giving him a chance to kiss her back.

She pulls away, sinking back onto her heels, watching him nervously, lip caught between her teeth as his eyes scan her face. Her cheeks are hot, her pulse racing with anxiety. God, has she just totally fucked up their first kiss?

He lets out a breath, and his adam’s apple bobs dramatically. And then he’s leaning in, closing his eyes, sucking the breath from her lungs as his lips graze hers. It’s so soft it’s barely a kiss at first, just them breathing into each other’s mouths. He brings his hands to her waist, and then he’s tugging her close, his lips moving against hers.

Her hands curl around his neck, and she opens her mouth for him, a satisfied whine escaping her when his tongue finds its way into her mouth, and he groans in return, the sound sending a pulse straight to her centre. He deepens the kiss, and Clarke can feel it eliciting tingles all through her body. They stumble backwards, so Clarke is pressed up against the glass of the aquarium, and his arms are tight around her, crushing her to him.

She tangles her fingers into his hair, losing herself in him, in his kiss. In his scent, the warm pressure of his body on hers, the desperate, longing way he’s devouring her, like he’s yearned for this as long as she has.

She doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but eventually they come up for air, flushed and a little messier than before they started kissing. Her lips feel bruised and swollen, and she resists the urge to rub her fingers across her mouth to feel the ghost of his kiss.

“God,” Bellamy says, half laughing. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever to do that.” He’s still pressed against her, his nose centimetres from hers. He’s bathed in subtle turquoise light, looking more handsome than ever.

Clarke smiles, feeling shaky, and not even close to being satisfied. He brushes stray strands of hair from her face, then presses a kiss to the tip of her nose. Her insides melt away.

“Me too,” she agrees.

He kisses her again, soft and slow, drawing it out. And then he pulls away, and she instantly misses the weight of his body on hers. He keeps their hands entwined, and he pulls her towards the picnic he’s set up. They’re both smiling idiotically, unable to stifle their joy even a little.

It’s pure euphoria as he sits on the cushions, still holding her hand, tugging her down beside him, their thighs pressed together. He has to let her hand go so he can reach into the cooler and pull out the wine, her favourite one, from a vineyard she’d visited with her dad once.

He lays out the food before them, an array of fruit and cheese and bread and cold meats, among other things. She stays pressed against his side as they eat and drink and talk and laugh, all the earlier awkwardness gone.

It’s comfortable and familiar, yet new and exciting at the same time. Her skin buzzes, and her stomach is filled with the good kind of butterflies every time he so much as smiles at her. She can’t stop looking at him, can’t stop marvelling over the fact that this is actually happening, can’t stop finding excuses to touch him. He in turn presses kisses against her temple, strokes her arm, her thigh, keeps his body as close to hers as possible. It’s all so casual, as if he doesn’t know what he’s doing to her, how she trembles under his touch, how she craves more.

They finish eating and put the remaining food away.

“We don’t have to go yet, do we?” Clarke asks. “How long are we allowed to stay?”

“Until Luna kicks us out, I guess,” Bellamy grins. “You want to just watch the fish for a while?”

Clarke nods, and Bellamy lies back on the cushions, tucking Clarke against his side, both looking up at the circling sea creatures. It’s a little magical, lying there with him, like they’re at the bottom of the ocean together. He’s got his arm around her, and her head is on his shoulder, her fingers tracing lines on his chest, pretending she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing.

“Clarke,” Bellamy says hoarsely.

“Mmm?” Clarke hums.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I’m think about how this must be what it’s like to be a mermaid,” she says. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking about kissing you,” he says.

Clarke’s breath hitches. “So kiss me,” she whispers. He shifts, so he’s on his side, propped up on his elbow, looking down on her.

He cups her face as he leans down and meets her lips. He explores her mouth leisurely, his hands so politely placed, miles from where Clarke really wants them. She kisses him back greedily, demanding, her hands not nearly so well-behaved.

“Clarke,” he groans, as her fingers dance down his chest, lower, towards his belt buckle. “God, Clarke.” She likes him sounding like that—a little wrecked as he moans her name. She’d like it even more with him inside her. He grabs her wrist before she can put her hand on his crotch to feel how big he is, if he’s hard or not yet.

“Stop,” he whispers. “I didn’t—I didn’t prepare for this.”

“I have condoms in my purse,” she tells him hurriedly. She’s wet and needy, and she’s wanted him so long.

He gives a pained groan. “I think—I think we should take it slow,” he says. “I just—I really don’t want to rush it, I want—I want us to be sure before we take that step. Is that okay?”

Clarke nods, trying not to let it upset her. He’s not trying to hurt her. How can he know that she already _is_ sure? It doesn’t mean he doesn’t want her. He’s just being cautious. This is only their first date, and yes, it’s been perfect, but he’s right, there’s no need to rush, especially if he’s not sure of his own feelings yet. Sex could complicate things too quickly.

“Okay,” she agrees, reluctantly.

“You have no idea how hard this is for me,” he assures her, as the untangle themselves from each other.

“I have some idea,” she huffs, red-faced and a little dejected. Her vibrator will be getting a work out tonight.

He grins at her. “How many condoms did you bring? Can I see?” He’s so stupidly adorable, teasing her, and she can’t stay mad. She grabs her purse and opens it for him, showing him the stash of condoms she’d shoved in there before he picked her up tonight.

He chuckles, and Clarke can’t help but giggle along with him. “Are these all for me or do you have another date after this?” he teases.

“Shut up,” she says, rolling her eyes, bumping him with her shoulder. He plucks one out of her purse, holding it up.

“I think I’d better supply the condoms,” he says, putting it back in her purse. He gets to his feet and holds his hand out, and Clarke takes it, allowing him to help her up.

“Why, do you not like this brand?”

He studies her for a moment. “No, it’s uh—” he rubs the back of his neck, a little awkwardly. “It’s just the size—”

“Oh,” Clarke says, heat blooming in her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I usually figure standard size will be okay. Not that—I mean it doesn’t matter to me. Size isn’t everything. I’m sure you’re still, you know—it will still be, um… good.”

Oh god, she’s making it worse. She really, truly doesn’t care about size, but somehow she’s surprised, and she feels bad that she’s surprised. Hot guys can still have small dicks. And he probably knows how to put it to good use. He has fucked a _lot_ of women.

He laughs though, not offended by her awkward stammering in the slightest. “Uh huh,” he drawls.

“Sorry,” she cringes.

“It’s fine,” he says, and his eyes are twinkling, and he’s still laughing at her, which is fine, because at least he’s not mad about it. That’s a good sign—a guy who has a sense of humour about his small dick. “Are you ready to go?”

Clarke nods, even though she’d be happy to stay here with him all night, but Luna will want to go home at some point, and plus Clarke desperately needs an orgasm and/or a cold shower if she wants to stay sane.

They pack up the blanket and pillows and Clarke carries the basket while Bellamy carries the cooler, in opposite hands, so they can still hold hands all the way back to his car. He texts Luna that they’re leaving, and then he drives Clarke back to her house.

He parks in her driveway, then walks her to her door, his hand on the small of her back. They stop at the door, under the security light, and the nervous, fluttery feeling is back.

“I had a really good time tonight,” Clarke says. She sounds cliché even to her own ears, but she hopes he can hear the sincerity in her voice.

“Me too,” Bellamy smiles. “How are my chances for a second date?”

“I’m free tomorrow night,” Clarke says immediately, her eagerness bursting out. She’s probably past the point of being able to play hard to get now anyway, what with the whole purse full of condoms incident.

“Okay,” Bellamy says. “Movie?”

Clarke nods. “Okay.”

“I’ll look up session times and let you know,” he says. Clarke nods. “Okay,” he says. “I guess this is goodnight.”

“You can come in,” Clarke says. “If you want.”

“I probably shouldn’t.”

“Okay,” Clarke says. She’s not going to push him. “Goodnight, then.” She surges up to kiss him.

“Goodnight,” Bellamy murmurs.

Clarke lets herself inside, shutting the door behind her, lips still tingling from his kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> convince me this isn't garbage so i have the will to continue it
> 
> twitter: emilyjadeds // tumblr: arysafics


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